


"Puff Piece"

by ebell



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebell/pseuds/ebell
Summary: Dan and Amy get it on. No plot, just porn. And the idea that Dan has real feelings, and uses them as another tool in his machinations.





	"Puff Piece"

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 2x08 "First Response." Mild non-consent (from Amy) and misogynistic language (from Dan), in the service of being faithful to the characters.

A bar, loud, several drinks. Dan sighed, letting the memories from the day flash and go. Time and career in a downward spiral. Amy, furious, losing it. His hands gripping her arms, fingers digging satisfyingly into her flesh, pulling her towards him as she resisted, blond hair in his face, his balls aching. He wanted to flip up her pencil skirt take her from behind while she raged, while Janet’s man watched. Amy catching his eye after the interview, more potent than at the Chung talk. “My ears are my livelihood.” So good, so sincerely insincere, a line lifted from the common man for the common man, and yet it hit him in the chest, vibrating his heartstrings warm and proud, stirring the remnants of the hard-on induced by Amy’s rage. Dan caught Amy’s eye, startled to discover her heated gaze, reflecting his lust for rhetoric and the promise of power.

A few more drinks, seated at the bar, almost facing each other, knees touching, commiserating. Amy still taut with rage, fists clenched, glaring up at him. Dan took a measured sip, looked down at Amy through his lashes. “He was right, you need a fuck.” He ruffled his hand though his hair, rubbed his eyes. He suddenly felt the day catch up him. Time and career in a downward spiral. He was so tired. “And I do too.”

Amy stood suddenly, closing the space between them, so their faces were level, inches apart, her pillowy rosebud lips almost brushing his. No snark in response, just wide blue eyes looking up at him hard, unreadable. He was so tired, he thought he might take her face in his hands, just bury his face in her hair, but she broke the spell with a curt nod, grabbing her purse.

And finally, fucking finally. Below him, on his bed, in his arms, flowing through his hands, an angel with golden hair, Amy Brookheimer. Moralizing, judgmental, brilliant, sneakily - distractingly - beautiful. A freak in the sheets. Her supple porcelain limbs tangled with his, legs round his chest. He pinned her arms overhead, one-handed, his forearm corded with lust. She glared at him with eyes glassy and beguiling, pupils huge, lashes matted with tears of frustrated desire. She was flushed from navel to neck, her mouth ruddy and swollen from his kisses.  He progressed, deliberately and inexorably, from biting her pout, to suckling behind an ear, down her neck stretched tight as a violin string. He licked the length of one clavicle, his hands driving her nipples to peaks, stroking down her ribcage, pushing her thighs down and apart, finally to cup her warm and slick center with both hands, reverently, before he pushed his fingers into her heat. His mouth paused for a moment at the underside of one breast, tongue laving precious droplets of sweat from her sweet flesh. Impatient, she tangled her hands in his hair and pushed his head down towards her sex.

He cupped her ass with both hands, squeezing. She groaned, on the threshold of pain. He tilted her, brought her slit to his nose and inhaled deeply, drinking in her scent. He flicked his tongue across her clit.  _Now Brookheimer, you will beg._

It's a simple game. He plays it with all the ladies. He doesn’t enter her until she asks. Progressive, even feminist - really! Sex-positive, certainly. Keeping his aching erection crushed to the mattress, he teased her, fingers crooking in and out of her slick channel while he licked her clit in light circles. His free hand cupped at her ass, massaging, indulging fully in a frequent daydream.

“Beg for it Brookheimer.” She moaned instead, glared at him from below.

“Concentrate. You’ve got a job to do, asshole.”

He continued to edge her, carefully, backing off once, twice, dare he try again - thrice. She raked his back with her nails, snarling in frustration.

“Use your words, Brookheimer. Say you want my cock.”

“Eat shit, prick. Back to work.”

Now for a different tactic. He brought his cock to her entrance, just wetting the head in her folds. She let forth a string of obscenities and he swallowed them with a rough kiss. He let his weight fall on her fully, twining his fingers with hers, feeling her flesh yield to his. He pressed his rigid cock into her belly and then whispering to her ear.

“You can have it, if you beg for it Brookheimer. A nice thorough fuck with my hard cock. I’m so hard for you. I’m always hard for you. But you can’t have it until you beg for it.”

And so on. It was an eternity to them both. Until Dan felt a flutter around his fingers, buried deep in her deliciously slick warmth. He groaned, pushing deeper, spurring her on, though he had planned to hold back. She caught his gaze, unblinking, and simply said his name, her voice a high, clear bell. Nothing special. The same tone she uses in the office. There’s a call for you. “Dan.” 

Amy heard him utter a strangled, guttural growl. He ripped his fingers from within her, leaving a bereft emptiness, but for a moment, filling her quickly with his cock, thrust to the root, stretching her so exquisitely that her toes curled, her eyes rolling up into her skull. Dan blacked out, would later be unable to recall the actual moment of penetration, chasing it futilely through his memories like an addict. When he came to he was gripping her by her hip bones and, unable to hold back any longer, giving her a nice, thorough fuck.

Amy arched against him, reveling in her victory.

“So much for begging. That’s it, Egan, you got it. Harder, you lazy prick.”

Dan heard her as if under water, a roar in his ears. Later, he would recall feeling like a man possessed. Her taunts drove him to fury, he unleashed himself.  He grabbed handfuls of her rear, angled her for even greater penetration, so that he could almost see his cock moving through the taut, smooth skin of her stomach, feel it drive deep into her belly and yes, God yes, her womb. With this came other demons. Unbidden, they spilled out, he lay his head on her shoulder, tumbling confessions into her ear like a lost boy. “Lovely Amy, lovely girl, pretty Amy, please come, please come for me Amy, please come for me now, come around my cock, baby, please.”

Amy had in fact already peaked several times and was at the end of her rope, past the point of endurance for any more pleasure.

“Dan, I can’t anymore…”

He had to unravel her. He had lost. He would take her down with him.

“Please baby. That’s it, that’s it, Amy, that’s it babe. Stay with me. One big one for daddy. Give me a good big strong come. One more, lovely girl.” He swirled his thumb on her clit, pressing and rubbing his cockhead on an area he had discovered, mapped from just those two furtive, desperate sessions of fingering, once in the hallway, his first week on the job, before everyone came in; once on Sue’s desk, last week after everyone had gone - the spot that reliably made her body arch like bow.

Moments later, she climaxed, her limbs closing round him like a sprung trap, sinking her teeth in his shoulder while tremors coursed through her. She screamed, burying his name in a string of expletives.

Amy pushed him off to collapse on the bed, well and truly spent. She opened one eye to look at him appraisingly. He was breathing hard, dark hair standing on end, penis still fully erect, looking painfully turgid, barely sheathed in the condom. His nostrils flared, his jaw worked, his hands gripped at the sheets, white-knuckled. Amy had never seen anything hotter: Dan, slick, manipulative exterior reduced to instinct, wound tight, so hard for her, poised to once more jump her bones. She felt tender, open, molten gold flowing through her body from the center of her belly.  _Let me hold you,_ her traitorous flesh sang,  _let me hold you as you spend deep in my womb._ She didn’t want him anywhere near her in this addled, post coital, sun-warmed state. She curled into a ball protectively, drawing the blanket over herself.

“Go finish in the bathroom.”

Dan blinked. At that moment, he would have done anything she said. He stumbled to the bathroom. He caught his reflection, was captivated by the sight of himself, dark eyes bright, hair on end, primed for release, muscles dented, the lines of his body carved like marble by desire, a fine sheen of sweat throwing the veins and fibers into relief. He couldn’t remember ever wanting someone more. He closed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair. He gripped his erection with a tense fist, replaying again and again sound of her screaming his name. He wouldn’t be long.

When he opened his eyes, Amy was standing behind him. She had her hand lightly on his, stilling him from stroking his shaft.

“Come on my tits, Egan.”

“And on your face.”

“Don’t push it.”

She knelt, looking up at him through her lashes with her wide blue eyes, lips pouting and slightly parted, breathing audibly through her mouth. He didn’t have time to steel himself; the sight of her, kneeling, face at his groin, her hands pushing up her breasts in offering, golden hair an unkempt halo, sent him over the edge. Shuddering, he painted her with his seed.

Gracefully, never breaking eye contact, Amy stood, Dan’s spunk dripping from her petal smooth, fair skin. She rubbed her nipples with it, dabbed her wrists and neck like perfume, licked her fingers. Dan was too busy following her hands on her body to realize he had been moaning almost continuously. “Oh Amy. Oh God, Amy.” She turned around to grab a towel, but he caught her from behind in an embrace, burying his face in her hair, rubbing his cum into her breasts and ribcage. He wanted so badly to track his hands through his own spunk and finger her with it, he was dizzy from the effort to restrain himself. He was rubbing his cum onto her low belly now, her hips. “Amy my lovely. Amy, my Amy. Oh Amy.” His hands strayed to her inner thighs.

Amy froze, pushed away.

“Time to rein it in, Egan. Get out. I need to shower. I’m a mess.”

They glared at each other. Dan blinked hard, swallowed.

“Yeah, you are, Brookheimer. Covered in my cum. Dirty cum slut.”

Her eyes flashed. She cupped his balls, gave his limp organ a quick squeeze. She kissed him on the cheek, standing on tiptoe. Her voice was low and husky and almost a whisper. Almost a lover’s voice. “Dismissed, Egan.”

Back to reality. Dan shook himself a little, crossed his arms, feeling suddenly chilled. The bathroom door locked, the sound of running water erosive, rude. Amy would step out, clean and composed. She would dress, smoothing her skirt and hair. She wouldn’t spend the night. Dan would change the bedclothes, do a load of laundry, first thing, before even checking his phone.

They would see each other tomorrow. He would catch her eye, would flashback vividly and irresistibly to the moment when he held her in his arms, rubbing his cum into her skin. He would use the memory to fuck someone else, probably Nicole, definitely this Friday, using a kernel of sincerity in a transaction for power. He knew the game well enough to know that you need to tug your own heartstrings to get someone off. He would serve her well, whoever his next fuck would be, thinking of Amy.

 


End file.
